


Don't Leave Again

by slytherco



Series: 25 Days of Drarry [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Again, Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas Angst, Draco runs away from his feelings, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Self-Doubt, Self-Hatred, and I still suck at titles, so it's a normal day everybody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:33:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21772249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherco/pseuds/slytherco
Summary: Day 8 of 25 Days of Drarry.Prompt: “Open it."---That night, Draco did the hardest thing he ever had to do in his life. He put his hands on Harry Potter’s shoulders and pushed him out of his lap. He stood up to collect himself, to get some physical distance. And he left. He took his coat and ran like a coward, thinking that it was the right thing to do.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: 25 Days of Drarry [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559188
Comments: 3
Kudos: 269





	Don't Leave Again

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://slytherco.tumblr.com/post/189633588288/25-days-of-drarry-day-8)

Draco was, once again, standing at the door of Grimmauld Place 12. He buried his face deeper in the collar of his coat as the crisp winter air prickled his cheeks. His breaths came out as puffs of white mist, lingering around him and fading into the darkness. The warming charm Draco had cast before he left, had worn off about halfway there. Now, his lips were chapped and dry and his fingers went stiff from clutching the wrinkled paper in his hand. 

Draco wasn’t sure coming here again was a good idea. He was hardly ever sure of that. The first time, he didn’t think about it but he was barely thinking back then. The second, he was certain it would end in disaster. The next seven times, there was apprehension but also this strange kind of selfish joy that kept him coming. And from then on, he stopped keeping track. It was weird, and also his intention wasn’t to dissect his emotions. He didn’t allow them to roam free or take any palpable form. It was treading on thin ice, heading into dangerous territory and it would take only one step, one small step to drown, to fall, crash and burn beyond repair. 

And then there was last night. When everything almost went to shit. Well, on some level, it did. He wasn’t supposed to be here but he rang the doorbell anyway. All because Draco couldn’t keep himself from wondering.

The door opened and his stomach lurched; Harry stood before him, wearing the same t-shirt he wore last night. He looked frazzled, as if he’d just woken up.

“What are you doing here?”, Harry’s voice was hoarse; he sounded tired, almost indifferent. 

Draco hesitated. “Are you going to let me in?”

“Are you going to run off again?” There was no malice in his tone. Draco would have preferred it - a sarcastic quip, a little sneer, he wished Harry was furious, he deserved it. But it was just a matter-of-fact question. His indifference and the defeated stance hurt much more than being clocked in the face or shaken by the lapels of his coat. And, perhaps, that was Harry’s intention all along.

_ Did you fold the laundry? Where did you go to school? Are you going to waste my time and bolt in the middle of the night again? _

Before he came up with an acceptable answer, Harry stepped aside and leaned on the doorjamb, not looking at Draco. This silent invitation was more than he had hoped for so he came in, brushing past Harry. His stomach pulsed with phantom pain.

The house didn’t change much in the last twelve hours. The Christmas decorations were still there, bundles of holly hanging over the staircase and fairy lights adorning the railing. It smelled like fresh coffee, old wood and something else, something  _ Harry _ . But Draco didn’t allow himself the sensation; it felt forbidden, after indulging just a little too much and almost getting wrapped up for good.

Last night was supposed to be normal. Safe. It was the day before Christmas, they had a coffee on Diagon, then went back to Harry’s. Like a hundred times before. Two friends hanging out together, having a good time, lying to themselves that this was it. In reality, he could feel Harry’s restlessness for months. Saw him clench his jaw every time Draco pulled away at the last second. Heard the occasional dejected sigh, masked with a smile, when he dodged an unspoken question with a joke. He felt the lingering glances that made his skin crawl with anticipation. And he wanted to punch something, wanted to pull his hair out, to do something, anything, just to let himself  _ have this _ . He wanted it so bad it made him scream inside, starving and yearning.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t do this to Harry, and to himself, they were both the flames to each other’s moths. It would be selfish, and irresponsible, and destructive; Draco knew, that as soon as he took what he wanted, it would have crumbled in his hands and turned into dust. So he never dared. 

But last night wasn’t like all those other nights. They opened a bottle of wine and stayed up late, just talking. He had always marveled at how easy it was to make Harry smile, how blindingly beautiful he was. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the dark curls falling onto his forehead, his fingers wrapped around the glass. And somehow, the atmosphere switched, he was standing near the sink, rinsing his hands and Harry was next to him. It was too close, the proximity was suffocating and yet, Draco felt like he could finally breathe for the first time. There was a hand brushing his own, carefully, as if not to startle him, and Harry said his name.  _ Draco. _ Pleading, like a prayer, an absolution, a command. And then, they were in each other’s arms, a hot mouth on his neck, jaw, his lips. There were fingers in his hair, on the buttons of his shirt, stroking every inch of him. Warm, smooth skin pressed against his, two heartbeats pounding in unison. He was on the sofa with Harry straddling his hips and it was  _ perfect _ , his pleasant weight, how they fit together, their breaths mingling like they were made for it. But something was wrong, like an alarm blaring in the distance, getting louder every second, announcing the incoming calamity.  _ No. You can’t. Don’t forget. _

That night, Draco did the hardest thing he ever had to do in his life. He put his hands on Harry Potter’s shoulders and pushed him out of his lap. He stood up to collect himself, to get some physical distance. And he left. He took his coat and ran like a coward, thinking that it was the right thing to do. 

And now Harry was gazing at him, his emerald eyes boring a gaping hole in his walls, the ones he relentlessly tried to rebuild overnight. Wearing the same shirt that Draco had pulled off his back just hours ago; clutching a cup of coffee with the same hands that traced his scars, counted his ribs and held his face like he was something precious, something to be cherished. 

Semi-consciously, he walked straight to the kitchen, to that same spot where all caution was thrown to the wind. The irony wasn’t lost on Harry either - his stance softened for a split second and a soft breath escaped his lips. But the gaze Draco was gauged with was distant and impenetrable.

Harry was the one to break the silence. “Are you going to say something?”

“I came to”, he swallowed. “I came to apologize.”

“Go on”, Harry said. He looked disappointed, and Salazar, could this be any harder?

“I’m sorry I left last night.”

There was a pregnant pause, then, Harry huffed a bitter laugh. “That’s it? No explanation?”

He thought Harry was done talking, that he would wait for Draco to answer. But apparently, the other man was unable to hold in his bitterness. “You know, I stayed there. I sat in that spot for hours, thinking what could I have possibly done wrong”, He squeezed his eyes shut for a second. “Should I be the one to apologize? Draco, fuck, I thought-”

“No. You’ve done nothing wrong. I just couldn’t-”, he took a shaky breath. “Here.” He didn’t know what to say anymore. So Draco did the only thing he could think of: he threw the newspaper he brought on the kitchen table.

“What’s this? The Prophet?”

“It’s from two days ago. Open it.”

Harry took a step back. “I don’t read that garbage. You know I don’t.”

“I know. But open it.”

Harry just stared at him, his brow furrowed. Draco let out a heavy sigh and opened the paper himself. Page three. Once again, he winced at the bold headline:  _ THE BOY WHO LIVED AND THE DEATH EATER - AN UNEXPECTED ALLIANCE. _ There was a picture of Draco and Harry having coffee, from about two weeks before. No matter how many times he looked at the photo, it stung like a knife to the chest. They looked so  _ comfortable _ . Happy. Harry was saying something into Draco’s ear, their shoulders bumping. The moving picture showed Draco smiling fondly, as Harry looked at him in, well, complete adoration. His face in that photograph would forever be branded into Draco’s mind - the picture of what could have been, in another time and another place.

Harry stared at the article, speechless. Draco felt that his gaze was mainly focused on the picture, as several different emotions flashed on his face. He skimmed the headline a few times over and stiffened. “I see.”

Harry didn’t even have to take out his wand; he waved his hand and the newspaper went up in flames, leaving nothing but charred remains. In moments like this, Draco was reminded how powerful Harry was; it made him feel like his whole skin was set ablaze.

Harry watched the flames die out and turned to face Draco. “Is that it, then?” His tone was curt, almost like a bark.

Draco winced. “Harry, I can’t do this. It’s not fair.”

The other man looked at him in cold disbelief. “You… Didn’t want to be seen with me. Well, shit. You could have told me.”

Realization dawned on Draco like a cold shower. “What? No!”, He spluttered. “Harry, it’s  _ you _ I’m concerned about! It’s your reputation, your image, your life being watched! I can’t possibly expect you to throw everything away and let them smear you all over the news!”

This wasn’t happening. Did Potter really think it was  _ Draco _ who should be worried about losing face? He had already lost it, years ago, when the Dark Mark was forced upon him. He needed him to  _ understand _ . To see that Draco would be nothing but a burden, an inconvenient elephant in the room, every time Harry refused to acknowledge what the rest of the world already knew. He couldn’t stop himself, he needed to explain.

“Harry. This is going to destroy you. They are going to tarnish your name-- I couldn’t live with the knowledge that someone would dare speak ill of you because of me. I-”

A hand tightly grabbing his collar interrupted his monologue. Harry’s face was unbearably close as he sneered at Draco.

“Why do you  _ think _ I never read that horseshit? Let me enlighten you--  _ I don’t. Give. A fuck”,  _ he spat out in fury. “This isn’t the first time and it won’t be the last. And I had never given a single fuck, ever”, he looked him straight in the eyes. “And I didn’t give a fuck yesterday, Draco”, He was looking at him with despair, willing Draco to understand.

He felt as if a ball of cotton was lodged in his throat. What was Harry saying?

“Harry, I’m sorry. All these months, I tried to stop myself, I tried to hold back because-”

Harry cut him off. “Don’t. If that was the only reason, just… Don’t, Draco. Don’t leave again.”

At some point, their foreheads were touching and Draco couldn’t  _ think _ , it was dangerous and intoxicating. “I don’t want to. I don’t think I could stay away anymore”, he let out a breathy laugh.

“Good”, Harry whispered and kissed him. 

***

By that miraculous twist of fate, they managed to finish what they had started the night before. And then, they went beyond, after months of unmistakable tension, pining and holding back. And on the second day of Christmas, Draco woke up in Harry’s bed, next to the most beautiful man he had ever laid his eyes upon and thought, just for a second, that he, too, could one day learn not to give a fuck.

  
  



End file.
